Matters of Taste

The Gastro-Adventure of 2012

Pairing an exciting physical adventure with a great meal is my idea of a good time. And, I didn’t have to go far to find my favorite gastro-adventure this year. No Swiss funiculars involved. No Andean peaks. No raging Canadian rivers.

                          

Instead, I simply hailed a cab in downtown San Francisco, hopped out 15 minutes later at the famous old Cliff House, and set out on the amazing California Coastal Trail. About ten miles in its entirety, the trail wends its way through forests and toney residential neighborhoods, along sheer cliffs, across sandy coves, and up and down steep dunes.

                           

It’s an extraordinary blend of natural landscapes and well-known man-made attractions such the Praesidio, Sutro baths, and Fort Point, a Civil War fort. Much of  this adventure can be called a “stroll,” but anyone looking for a workout won’t be disappointed by the steps running up and down the cliffs, and the 100-plus “stairs” carved into a sand-dune “wall” near Baker Beach. As an added attraction, the shimmering Golden Gate Bridge is almost never out of sight.

On a glorious, sunny autumn day, we walked from Cliff House, past Sutro Baths, darted in and out of the thick forest of Lincoln Park, strolled through the affluent enclave of Sea Cliff, peeking into gates to see the magical mansions set on the edge of the cliffs. We then dropped down to long, sandy China and Baker beaches and walked along the water’s edge, until we climbed back up again on those 100-plus sand “steps.”(Photo from EveryTrail.com which gives an excellent step-by-step guide to this hike.)

                                 

Continuing past the Praesidio, Golden Gate Bridge, Fort Point, Crissy Field, and the Marina Green Park, we finally turned into the residential streets of the Marina neighborhood and found our way to bustling Chestnut Street. Total walking time was about 2 ½ - 3 hours. It's hard to give an exact mileage, because there are many options along the way. Mapquest estimates six miles, several hiking guides say it's closer to 10 miles.

The “gastro” part of the adventure was equally exciting.

                      

Tacolicious was the pot of gold at the end of our ramble. This casual emporium of creative Mexican fare is wildly popular, with crowds clustered at the door and on the sidewalk pretty much any hour of the day. (There are also T-Lishes in the Mission district and Palo Alto.)  

Tacos are the main attraction – each consisting of two griddled tortillas, stuffed enthusiastically with unusual combos of super-fresh, (mostly) locally sourced ingredients.

I loved the fried local rock cod that’s paired with shredded cabbage and tangy cream sauce; the house-made chorizo sausage with succulent potato chunks; and the vegetarian butternut squash number that’s spiked with poblano peppers, red bell peppers, spicy pepitas, and slightly bitter greens. (The above photo, by Michael Macor for the San Francisco Chronicle, shows the asparagus, potato, mushroom and green garlic taco; traditional carnitas; beer-and-shot braised chicken; fried local rock cod.) 

Since we were feeling “fit” (and totally deserving!) after our rousing hike, we also ordered the zesty shot-and-a-beer braised chicken tacos which are miraculously tender, and the braised short rib tacos that can thank guakillo chiles for their spicy, tangy, slightly smoky flavor.  Each taco gets a “custom” dusting of onion, cilantro, cabbage, lettuce, tomato, cheese, or whatever other crunchy bit will add to the fun.

                                 

Though it bills itself as a “cocktail-driven restaurant,” with 120 tequilas begging to be sipped, Tacolicious also offers imaginative alcohol-free concoctions that are ideal lunch accompaniments. (The menu heading is “Drivers, Kids and Recovering Bartenders.”) I love the Mia (cranberry juice, sparkling lemonade and fruit salsa), the Moss (passion fruit, pineapple, and sparkling limeade), and the Silas (lemon, lime and mint). 

For folks not in the mood for tacos (really?), the menu also offers “snacks” that range from a creamy, dreamy guacamole and snappy ceviche with apple and orange bits, to the popular albacore tuna tostada with crispy leeks and chipotle mayo, and  the pork-beef meatballs done with roasted tomato-chipotle salsa and cotija cheese. Then there are the chips 'n salsa. Let's just say I feel sorry for all the people who haven’t burned up a bunch of calories before hitting Tacolicious. They must have to stop after just one basket of the warm, addicting tortilla chips (served with three sensational house-made sauces, hot, medium and mild).  I had to be dragged out of there before I could completely polish off our third basket.

 

                                        

Tacolicious in the Marina is a small place , one long, narrow room with a smattering of tables, an inviting copper-topped bar, and a constant cluster of happy people waiting for a place to sit. We were lucky enough to score one of the tiny tables in the sidewalk enclosure, giving us front-row-center seats to the exuberant party that is Chestnut Street.

 

 

#1 Turkey Day Task: Work Up An Appetite

Every year on Thanksgiving Day, we invite our guests to arrive an hour before the first Cosmo is shaken, with old sneakers in hand, and we all set off on a mile-plus walk on the beach. The sunset is usually fabulous this time of year; it’s a great chance to schmooze; our black lab Geena is in heaven; and we all work off a few of the calories  to come.

This year my husband and I went one better. We spent the week before Thanksgiving at Rancho La Puerta in Tecate, Mexico. The first spa in North America (founded in 1940), it’s a vast, unspoiled property, offering delicious vegetarian fare and a staggering array of exercise, fitness and wellness classes.

                                     

I was a visiting speaker for the week, giving a presentation called “Feats & Eats: How a Food Writer Ate Her Way Around the World for 30 Years Without Gaining Pounds or Inches.” (The talk touches on great food at great restaurants over the globe and appealing, accessible exercise options in the vicinity of each.)

At the Ranch, every day is one big, movin’-and-groovin’ adventure. The morning starts at 6:15 am with a rigorous 3.5- or 5.5-mile hike up Mt. Kuchumaa which frames the resorts 3,000 acres. A typical day’s “class schedule” includes Mountain Hike, Stretch and Relax, Pilates Matwork, Cardio Hip-Hop, Tennis Clinic, Sand Volleyball, Cardio Kickboxing, Latin Dance, and Trekking: Treadmill Workout.

                                     

And, the food is fabulous. Unlike the bland, uninspired fare at many spas, Ranch food is creative, delicious, beautifully presented, and satisfying. The menu is mostly vegetable based (though there is a seafood option a couple times a week), with all herbs and many fruits and veggies coming from the Ranch’s own extensive gardens.  Grilled Polenta with Sautéed Spinach, Lentil Medley, Roasted Carrots & Red Bell Pepper Sauce was one of the entrees that struck my fancy last week.

But, to me, the most impressive part of every meal is the salad, and the salad dressing in particular. I’ve been a guest for at least 20 days over several years, and I don’t remember ever seeing the same salad twice.  Every one has been a beautiful still-life, and every dressing has offered unique flavors and supremely satisfying mouthfeel, with minimal fat and calories.(In the photo: Roasted Pear & Arugula Salad with Pomegranate-Chipotle Vinaigrette.)

                                              

Last week I discovered my all-time favorite: Mint Salad Dressing, made with one of the many types of mint grown on the property. It was so good, I went back to the buffet for extra steamed and raw vegetables, just so I’d have something to dip in the luscious nectar.

We left Rancho La Puerta feeling fit, healthy, and well-rested, ready for the Thanksgiving week onslaught of food and drink, family, friends and fun.

I also left with the recipe for the mint dressing.

(For more info about Rancho La Puerta, check out its Website or read my blog posts about the experience.)

MINT-JALAPENO DRESSING

Makes 2 cups

3 large shallots, peeled and roughly chopped

1 cup fresh mint leaves or combination of mint and basil

1 jalapeno, seeds and ribs removed, roughly chopped

1 cup water

½ cup red wine vinegar

¼ cup agave syrup or honey

1 teaspoon sea salt, or to taste

1/8 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper

In a blender, combine all the ingredients, pulsing until smooth.

Chick Chick Hooray!

“Nobody doesn’t like fried chicken,” said Lee Schrager, organizer of Food Network South Beach Wine & Food Festival, in the Wall Street Journal.

Good grammar aside, Schrager is probably right. Even the people who say they don’t like fried chicken really do like fried chicken; they just don’t like to admit it.

A recent article in the WSJ asks “Could fried chicken, in its many forms…be the next big trend in food?”  Well, reporter Charles Passy says that based on the menu at the Food Network New York City Food & Wine Festival held last weekend, the answer is a resounding YES.

                                    

At one of the Festival's “themed” events, called "Shake & Bake," patrons who paid the all-inclusive $145 admission fee, chowed down on the likes of Fried Chicken Thigh Burger; traditional southern-style Buttermilk Fried Chicken;  Matzo Meal-Crusted Drumsticks; two versions of Chicken in a Waffle Cone;  Korean Fried Chicken Tacos; and Backhendl with Potato-Arugula Salad (pictured here) by Blaue Gans' chef Kurt Gutenbrunner. (Photo by Arthur Bovino for The Daily Meal.)

All this talk about crispy chicks got me thinking and drooling over my own Remembrances of Fried Chickens Past.

One of the best-ever was a serendipitous encounter this summer with the perfect Backhendl, German for fried chicken, (pictured below): crisp, non-greasy, smartly seasoned, with the ideal one-two punch of dark golden crust and tender juicy meat. Fresh lemon and parsley adorned it, and a glistening, vinegar-based potato salad was on the side.

                                        

My husband and I made this bird’s acquaintance at Kirchenwirt, a small, family-run cafe in the middle of no-where, on the outskirts of Vienna, Austria.  The Kirchenwirt gasthof gets plenty of visitors despite its out-of-the-way location because it sits across the street from the Basilika Klein-Mariazell, a picturesque church and cloister founded in 1134. Though it has weathered some tough times, the elegant cluster of buildings is today both a living religious community and an architectural work of art.

                                      


It is also smack dab in the middle of a massive network of inviting hiking trails. Our Austrian friends suggested the day’s excursion and guided us on an enchanting three-hour hike that took us through gladed forests, across grassy meadows, up and down rolling hills, and through tiny hamlets such as Altenmarkt an der Triesting.  It was there we passed a lovely old home with this sign on the gate. The sign says: “I am a Rottweiler. Beyond here (this gate) Benjamin von Husarentempel will bite you.”

                                      

The hike started and ended at the Basilica Klein-Mariazell, so Kirchenwirt was a natural place for lunch.  We sat on the terrace, in warm sunshine, with cold draft beers, and gave thanks for good friends,   gorgeous landscapes, a glorious hike --- and great fried chicken.

Corn Soup: Hot and Cold, American and Austrian

To me, nothing says SUMMER better than an ear of just-picked corn, boiled for a minute or two, then anointed with unsalted butter and a bit of kosher salt. But chef Helmut Österreicher has his own ideas on the subject. At Österreicher im MAK, his restaurant in Vienna’s Museum of Applied Arts, the award-winning chef whips up a deliriously delicious corn cream soup, Maiscreme-Suppe mit Krauter-Popcorn. It’s smoother-than-smooth, impossibly fresh tasting. And, to add a bit of whimsy to a humble veggie soup, Österreicher tops it with lighter-than-air herbed popcorn.

                                      


And, this stellar soup is only part of the good news about Österreicher im MAK. In his effort to merge classical and contemporary versions of Austrian cooking, chef Österreicher woos guests with a quivering white asparagus panna cotta (below) surrounded by “raw” vegetable salad; elegant pastry pockets filled with sun-dried cherry tomatoes and fresh basil; yellow curry risotto topped with grilled shrimp and green beans; and a totally old-fashioned, totally yummy veal “hamburger” with mashed potatoes and grilled onions.

                                      

As befits a restaurant in a museum of applied arts, Österreicher im MAK is an unusually beautiful space, with sleek, elegant furnishings, stylish table settings, and creative lighting, including a signature chandelier that no one who sees it will ever forget. The restaurant also offers one of Vienna’s most captivating gardens, where lunch is served. (Photo below from The New York Times.)

                                      

I’ve been thinking about Herr Österreicher's amazing corn soup ever since I tasted it during a visit in June. Last week I attempted to whip up my own cream of corn soup (a chilled version since it was nearly 80 degrees), using Olathe Sweet Corn. (I’m in Telluride, Colorado at the moment, with the town of Olathe, renowned for its corn, just about an hour away.) Using a recipe from one of my favorite cookbooks – “In the Hands of a Chef” by Jody Adams and Ken Rivard -- I dutifully made corn stock from the stripped cobs, sautéed the kernels with leeks and shallots, and pureed and blended the whole shebang using both Cuisinart and blender. It was a helluva lot of work, but it was delicious and handsome with its crunchy sprinkle of diced cucumber, avocado, red onion and tomato. You’ll find this Chilled Smooth Corn Soup with Tomatoes, Avocado, and Lime in “In the Hands of a Chef.”  Available on Amazon.com for $13.98.

Veggie "Burgers" To Die For

Patty-cake-patty-cake is more than just a kids’ game in Austria. These people take their laibchen very seriously.

Laibchen is the word for a ground-something patty. Typically it’s made from chopped meat – usually beef or pork – mixed with pepper and salt, garlic and fresh herbs, a bit of chopped onion and an egg to hold it all together. Dusted with fine breadcrumbs, it’s pan-fried in vegetable oil and served with a green salad and a beer.

                                         

But modern-day Austrian chefs are hacking up all sorts of things these days to produce an elegant, creative, usually vegetarian riff on this rustic staple.

At Gasthof Fürberg, a small, family-run hotel on Lake Wolfgang in Austria’s Salzkammergut region, the
laibchen (above) are formed from topfen (a fresh cheese similar to quark), minced onion, leek, carrot, celery, beets, and other veggies, and a big dose of minced herbs. Formed into patties, patted with beaten egg and fine breadcrumbs, they are pan-fried and set afloat in a savory wild mushroom ragout. The dense forests around Lake Wolfgang are home to many varieties of mushrooms; the cream comes from a local farm; the herbs are from the hotel’s garden. This is farm-to-table dining at its finest. And that bouquet of fried parsley beside the Fürberg patties isn’t just for looks, by the way. Its bright herbal flavor and lacy crispness made a great dish ever better.

I enjoyed every bite of my cheese laibchen during a recent stay at Gasthof Fürberg. The setting was magical – a gravel terrace smack on the edge of the lake; lights aglow in massive chestnut trees; and a cloud-dotted indigo sky fading to black. We drank a delicious “cuvee” from the Neusiedlersee wine region of eastern Austria (this one a blend of Zweigelt, Blaufränkisch and Cabernet Sauvignon).

And, since I knew I had already burned off many of my dinner calories with a three-hour hike that afternoon, everything tasted all the better. The hike took us up and over the Falkenstein massif, past a picturesque chapel that St. Wolfgang supposedly chiseled out of rock sometime around 964 AD, then down into the modern village of St. Wolfgang.

                                    

The hike is one of my favorites because it offers varied terrain (some insanely steep, some baby carriage-friendly), sunshine and shade, a peek inside the gates of lakeside villas, and a smattering of religious legends that I find very entertaining. The path is part of a famous pilgrimage route that includes the aforementioned chapel, another weensy chapel in the side of the mountain that has spring water gushing out of the stone -- supposedly unleashed by St. Wolfgang’s sword; and yet another chapel featuring an indentation in the wall, supposedly made by the saint’s head. Legend has it that if a hiker rests his head in that space he will never suffer from headaches.  Since it was covered in slime and seeping water, I decided to take my chances with the headaches.

A few days before our arrival at Fürberg, we had encountered cauliflower laibchen at the charming Steirerhof hotel in Austria’s Steiermark region. (The area is best known to Americans as the home of Ahhhhhnold Schwarzenegger --- remember him?) .

The golden patties consisted of mashed and chunky cauliflower, sautéed onions, topfen cheese, and lots of fresh chopped chives. They sat on “thrones” of whipped topfen. I found the extra cheese to be overkill, but the delicious patties tasted of veggies straight from the garden and the texture was terrific.

Once again, I dug into dinner with gusto, thanks to the rousing hike up and over the Reiteralm that was led that day by the patriarch of the Pitzer family that owns the hotel.  (Son Marcos was in front of the 20-plus group of hikers, dad Karl was behind giving encouragement to those who doubted they could tackle the two steep, snow-clad peaks involved.)

Steirerhof is a member of a loose association of hotels in Austria and northern Italy called Wanderhotels. (Wander is German for hiking.) At these hotels, the room rate usually includes a huge breakfast buffet, a three-course dinner, and a guided hike each day. 

During our adventure onto the Reiteralm (an alm is a large meadow that’s usually a riot of colorful flowers in June, and home to lucky local cows all summer long) we came upon the Spiegelsee,  German for Mirror Lake.

                                         

This was our first visit to the Steiermark region. But, with scenery like this during the day, and meals like Steirerhof's at night, it’s unlikely to be our last.

Hey Bartender, Another Round of Hugos!

Europeans have always loved the Holunder plant, using the fragile white blossoms to make tea, syrups and sodas, and to cure the common cold. (Holunder translates, in English, as elderflowers.)

But today the pretty shrub is a regular rock-star on the bar scene. The Hugo cocktail is everywhere -- a splash of elderflower syrup, Prosecco (Italian sparkling wine), a couple of crushed mint leaves, maybe a lime wedge, and a topper of sparkling water. It’s the rage in Italy, Austria, Germany, where it’s dubbed the “Szenegetränk” this summer, meaning the “scene drink.”  

No one could tell me why it’s called the Hugo, but the word on the Web is that it was created last summer in Südtirol, the idyllic northern Italian area that’s home to the Dolomite mountains and where the holunder plant blankets hillsides and meadows for a few weeks each June.

The low-alcohol cocktail is elegant, subtle, with just a hint of natural sweetness, a whisper of fruit. The flavor is tough to describe. I guess I’d say there’s a fleeting pear presence, a hovering of citrus.

                                     


I stumbled upon this delicious drink on the first night of a recent hut-to-hut trek in the Dolomites. Our merry band of hikers had rendezvoused in Teis, Italy (a hamlet of about 500 people) that afternoon. During dinner at a nearby hotel, our server recommended the Hugo to one of our group who asked for "something different.”  In the weeks that followed, we saw it promo’d on bar menus, in pastry shops, on billboards, in magazines and even at mountain-top huts where hikers clicked glasses to celebrate their successful climbs.

The Hugo is different from the elderflower cocktails that are popular in the U.S. today. Most of those use St. Germain, a liqueur made from elderflower blossoms. These trendy quaffs are delicious too, but they’re heavier and boozier than the Südtirol’s Hugo which uses syrup instead of liqueur.

As an aperitif, the Hugo piques the palate. In the middle of a warm afternoon, it’s a refreshing pick-me-up. One German Website I found said the Hugo “tastes like summer, sun, and vacation.”

Bartender, I’ll have another.

 

 

Ravioli by Any Other Name

...will smell as sweet, taste as good --- especially when the other name is Schlutzkrapfen.

Schlutzkrapfen are a specialty of Italy’s Südtirol/Alto Adige region (the northernmost, mountainous area next to Austria). They’re made with impossibly sheer pasta dough, and usually filled with spinach and chives just plucked from the garden. There’s also a touch of cream involved and it usually comes from the neighboring farm. Picture-perfect Schlutzkrapfen are hand rolled and crimped. It simply doesn’t get any better.

When I recently hiked the enchanting Südtirol (home to the Dolomite mountains) with frends, we ordered Schlutzkrapfen every chance we got, trying close to a dozen versions in 10 days.

                                    

The best was at Moar, a Jausestation (“snack bar”) in the Villnöss Valley.  Every bite elicited rolled eyes and quiet moans – the silken pasta, the bracing flavor of just-picked spinach tinged with cream, the fresh butter lightly browned, the saltiness of grated parmesan. Chef/owner Robert Perntaler runs the show at this popular Gasthaus, with the help of his wife, their young daughter and a bunch of hens who lay the eggs for the glorious cakes, tortes and strudels.

Gasthof Moar, which has a remarkable extensive menu in spite of its "snack bar" name, is reachable by a twisty unpaved mountain road, but most guests arrive on foot via one of the trails that dot that side of the Villnöss valley. On the Sunday afternoon of our warm-up hike (we would meet our mountain guide the next morning for a four-day hut-to-hut trek), we climbed up and out of the village of Teis, then skirted the mountain ridge for about 2 hours until we dropped out of the woods and into the meadows surrounding the picturesque Moar chalet.

                                     

The terrace was a scene straight out of The Sound of Music -- crowded and noisy with laughter and the clatter of utensils and dishes, kids playing in the tiny adjacent playground, brilliant blue sky, a profusion of multi-colored geraniums in every windowbox.  There were no tables free when we arrived. But my husband and I had fallen in love a few years back with Moar’s beet Knodeln (dumplings) and we were determined to enjoy them again and introduce our friends to the yummy treasure.

                                      

The Rohnknodeln (made with finely chopped and crushed red beets, dried bread chunks, Topfen cheese  and a flurry of fresh chives) were just as good as we remembered and well worth the wait. According to Frau Pernthaler, the dumplings are first rolled around in a hot pan with butter until they’re browned, then boiled briefly in hot water to complete the cooking.  The texture is smooth and creamy, the flavors fresh and herby.  The spunky creamed horseradish sauce makes them downright irresistible.

 

A New Way to Scramble an Egg

I’m in Vienna, Austria this week, rejoicing in the music, food, art, and outdoorsy adventures that this elegant, old-world city has to offer.

                                          

Over the weekend, I once again explored the famous Karmelitermarkt, (Carmelites’ market) the Saturday-only outdoor market that’s considered the best in a town full of excellent markets.

My plan was to buy eierschwammerl (also known as chanterelles) and make mushroom goulash for dinner.  These golden, trumpet-shaped funghi show up in the market only for a couple weeks in June. As soon as I arrived at the square, I sought out the purveyors who had small baskets of the precious mushrooms, picked the ones that looked best, and bought a half pound.

The rest of the shopping could wait until after breakfast.

For that, we headed to Marktachterl, a popular café on the perimeter of the square .  (A few other casual restaurants, a flower shop, several butchers, and a couple of pastry shops are also permanent merchants on the square.)

I was expecting a simple plate of scrambled eggs when I ordered Eierspeis. But what I got was an education and inspiration for future breakfasts.

                                   

Since Eierspeis translates literally as “egg-dish,” I asked the waiter how the eggs were prepared. He answered:  “They’re moved around in a pan.”

OK.

Instead of beating the eggs together in a bowl, the cook apparently broke the eggs directly into a hot pan with sizzling butter, let them sit a few seconds, and then scrambled them until they were loosely set. The result was light and fluffy with luscious chunks of white and yellow --- a far more interesting texture than the norm. A flurry of fresh chives, and a tiny plop of sour cream with cherry tomatoes completed the picture.

It seems that Viennese chefs love to toss and tousle stuff around in a frying pan. One of the country’s best known desserts is Kaiserchmarrn (which translates as Emperor’s Mishmash), a sweet, eggy pancake that’s chopped up as it cooks in the pan, creating a handsome heap of shredded, caramelized, crispy-edged pancake topped with bits of fruit  or nuts, all buried in a blizzard of powdered sugar.

One of the best versions I’ve ever had was at the tiny lodge of Heilige Kreuz high in the Dolomite mountains of Northern Italy.  I wrote about that sugary masterpiece last summer when I was trekking, hut-to-hut, with friends.

More about the yummy mushroom goulash I made for dinner later.

The Great Gastro-Adventure of 2011

When our group of 8 hikers – tired but giddy over the day’s accomplishments - arrived at Fuciade Hütte late one afternoon last June,  we expected bare-basic accommodations and simple, hearty fare. Instead, we got the gastro-adventure of 2011.

We had left Sottoguda, a quaint one-block town in Italy's imposing Dolomite mountains, that morning -- five physicians, two nurses, this food writer, and our bergführer (mountain guide) Roman Profanter. The day’s planned route included a trek up and over the dramatic stony mass called the Forca Rossa, but that plan was soon scratched when it started to rain and heavy grey clouds obscured all signs of mountains in that direction.  Instead, we took a 20-minute taxi ride to a hiking trail deep in the forest and started to climb a series of hills and peaks heading for our next overnight stop, Rifugio Fuciade. (In this part of Italy, the Alto Adige or Südtirol, both Italian and German are spoken. Hütte and Rifugio both refer to the simple but often spectacular houses with rooms and food along the trails.)

Our hopes for a yummy lunch at the hut proposed by Roman were dashed when we discovered a sign in the window of the darkened hut: Closed for a family funeral. We waited out a cacophonous thunder and lightning storm, huddled under the building’s eaves, and “lunched” on the goodies one couple had brought along: bread from the breakfast buffet, a bit of salami and cheese, and homemade “gorp” with M&Ms.

We spend the rest of the afternoon climbing, in and out of woods, in and out of drizzle. Even in black-and-white, the vistas were spectacular. Finally, after a particularly challenging downhill scramble, we rounded the proverbial corner and came face to face with Fuciade Hütte with its Heidi-esque balconies, geraniums, lace-curtains, playground and tiny wooden chapel.

The Italian-speaking owner and her huge black dog greeted us warmly, took our muddy boots to the  boot-dryer and showed us to our rooms on the second floor. (Fuciade Hütte has only 7 or 8 rooms, with rustic furnishings and small but nice bathrooms.) After hot showers and catnaps, we gathered in the bar for aperitifs and card games, then went to our assigned table, exquisitely set with local linens and Italian glassware.

The salad should have been a tip-off that this was not going to be a normal mountain hut repast, usually a salad, meaty dish and homemade cake or strudel.  Chef Rossi's elegant salad of fine, leafy greens was dotted with paper-thin shavings of green apple and fresh herbs, and was followed by a robust vegetable soup that we all agreed we would have killed for at lunch time.

Next came homemade lasagna, with gossamer noodles and deer ragu, and, sharing the plate, a well-seasoned barley risotto, with perfectly al dente grains and translucent shavings of parmesan.

As the proverbial happy campers, we toasted our good fortune with delicious local wines, and commented, not complained, mind you, but commented on how few vegetables we had eaten in the past couple days. Boom, out came the “main course” – a bowl of five or six kinds of bright, butter-blessed vegetables, accompanying a Brobdingnagian veal shank called Stinco di Vitello. 

                                            

The glossy, crusty meat fell off the bone into shiny natural juices as the platter was passed around the table. Every caramelized nubbin of meat brought oohs and aahs from the stunned audience. But there was still more: Steaming slabs of polenta with a wild mushroom ragu, which I tasted enough of to know that it was fabulous and that I would regret the next day that I hadn’t eaten more.

Three or four  homemade desserts, including an impressive, egg-white-fluffed buckwheat cake with homemade jam, and a picture-perfect pear tart came next in the parade. Since no one could eat more than a bite, we were all thrilled to see them again the next morning on the breakfast buffet, that also featured a nice cheese plate and sensational breads baked on the premises.

Dazzled by our gastro-adventure of the previous night, and the brilliant blue skies that greeted us that morning, we set out for another day of trekking in the Dolomites.

                                              

(Though Fudicade Hutte, built in 1960, appears to be in the boonies, it is accessible by foot (both hiking and skiing) and via a rickety, red contraption (like a snowplow) that ferries diners along the long dirt path to the "state" road.  I'm told that the owners, Sergio and Emanuela Rossi and their grown children, serve 300 people for lunch and another 100 for dinner on a busy July day. But in late June, we, and one other single hiker, were the only overnight/dinner guests.  The Rossis smoke and age all their own meats, make all pasta, breads and desserts, and maintain an impressive wine cellar.)

What Do Caviar and Banana Peels Have in Common?

Chef Rafa Mora Sanchez takes the adage “Waste Not, Want Not” seriously. And diners at Café Milagro, on the road from Quepos to Manual Antonio National Park in Costa Rica, are glad that he does.  

On a recent night at the Café,  the chef served his own colorful version of picadillo, the Latin-American hash that usually consists of seasoned ground meat, diced vegetables, olives or raisins. His starts with the peels from unripe green bananas called plantains.

“We grew up very, very poor, near San Isidro de El General,” Rafa explained in Spanish, with my sister-in-law, Ceci, translating . “My grandmother was cooking for a very large family and to make enough picadillo for everyone she had to use the peels of platanos.”

At Café Milagro, Rafa neatly dices the plaintain peels and adds finely diced squash, red onion, sweet peppers, a bit of soft crumbled chorizo, cumin and garlic. Grated coconut adds a hint of sweetness, cilantro lends an herbal note. It’s well seasoned, but not spicy.

When we were there, he served the unusual picadillo with a terrific piece of seared yellowfin tuna (local and fresh at this time of year) and paper-thin corn tortillas for scooping. But I loved the way the firm, perfectly diced pieces of fruits and  veggies felt on my tongue and opted to eat the stuff straight from a spoon ---- just like one would an expensive caviar.

Café Milagro has been a fixture in Quepos for almost 20 years. Created by a couple of young, adventuresome gringos, Adrienne Pellizzari and Lance Byron, it was at first a coffee-roasting operation in the heart of Quepos. Later, with the addition of tables and chairs, it became a funky little café  beloved for its café con leche and pastries made by a local bakery.  Later, an “outpost” Café opened a couple miles away on the road to Manuel Antonio. (The Website’s history of the company reads like an appealing “coming of age” novel.)

It’s the Manuel Antonio Café Milagro that now serves dinner, in an enchanting little garden lighted with Christmas tree lights.  The menu is typical “Tico”  with an emphasis on super-fresh fish, rice dishes and other Latin-American specialties, such as pork tenderloin with Mojo Criollo (olive oil, lemon, garlic and cilantro.) Rafa's patacones, the smooshed, twice-fried plantains (also known as platanos and tostones) are fabulous. And I'm told he does a terrific puree of ripe plantains with bacon, onions and cilantro

Though the delicious banana peel hash is an attention-grabber, it’s Café Milagros’ coffee that has put it on the map over the years. Adrienne takes full advantage of the different types of beans coming from Costa Rica’s many microclimates. All of her beans are hand-picked on (mostly) family-owned farms, micro-processed and often sun-dried. She, Lance, and now employee Randall Rojas, a Tico, still roast the beans in the same clumsy contraption (the Website calls it "an archaic, locally made one-of-a-kind coffee roaster") that Adrienne was using 20 years ago.

I admit…I’m a coffee snob, pretty much convinced that only the Italians know how to make a great cup of coffee. (And, indeed, the best cappuccino I ever had was at a little café outside the Tuscan town of Colle di Val d’Elsa; the best espresso, at the Hotel Greif in Bolzano, Italy.) 

But I was astonished by the rich, sweet  fragrance of  Milagro’s ground espresso,  and thrilled with the caramel and citrus notes of the brewed Tarrazu Reserva Especial.  (Tarrazu, at 6,000 feet, is considered the premier coffee-growing region in Costa Rica.) Café MIlagro coffees, ground or whole bean, cost about $12.95 for a 12-ounce bag and can be ordered on-line. There’s a flat shipping rate of $9.95 for any number of bags, to anywhere in the U.S.